Vanity in the Third Degree
by LilyJadeth
Summary: Shizuo is a hopeless angel whose only hope lies in the palm of Izaya's hand. However, he's expected to dance. Contains mild gore/violence, eventual smut, mild language and Stockholm syndrome.
1. 1:1 Paint a sky around the stars

****_Whoever had said that Shizuo could not feel pain was terribly wrong._

_A screech that curdles his own blood tears like a knife to the skull, violently protesting against his eardrums until the blond realizes that the tremendous, agonizing sound has come from his own rasping throat. His mind is screaming for relief, but he knows voice alone would do no good._

_What's been done has been done, and there's no going back._

* * *

><p>s e v e n y e a r s e a r l i e r<p>

* * *

><p>Midnight. A warm chill rises from the sidewalk and descends in the form of an evening mist. Stars freckle the night sky as if to speak for droplets of dew on newly frosted glass, as if to watch with another; overhead, while pale moonlight trickles down from a familiar, graceful sliver, witching-hour indigo grows deeper and deeper the longer he stares, as if the indigo could infect his own mahogany irises like the permanence of ink or paint.<p>

_Though Kasuka always did like watercolors more_, he thinks.

In no time at all, Shizuo finds himself running once more. The concrete lifting away beneath his feet as he starts to gain momentum and hover barely, the sweat cooling on his neck and temples, the rush of the wind in his hair— he can't get enough. The muscles in his wings are beginning to tighten up, tensing and arching for the potential of flight. The burning sensation in his lungs and calves is wholly tuned out, and Shizuo takes the next tall curb as an opportunity to leap off the ground. It's an exhilarating feeling, just those few moments of freedom and majesty, because there is only one problem.

Shizuo cannot fly.

Kasuka is waiting patiently in the den when the blond staggers in, the heavy force of exhaustion beginning to finally take its toll on his slumped shoulders. Without a word the shorter teen stands, wings folded neatly at his back, and slips an arm under Shizuo's. The blond tries not to lean on his brother with the worry that he might somehow crush him beneath his weight, but soon enough he's close to falling asleep on his feet as they approach his bedroom. This is a normal ritual between the two of them: Shizuo's nightly runs, and the many hours Kasuka would stay up, reading and waiting for him to come home. If Shizuo was ever awake enough to notice small details, he might have been able to pick up the front cover of those books — titles different, every night, because the brunette has gone through the entire Heiwajima family library. Twice.

Once, on one of these runs, Shizuo plucked a large paperback from the shelf of a bookstore. Kasuka had smiled a little at the gift, glancing up in reassurance even though it's one they already own, and placed it far away from the first copy so Shizuo wouldn't know of his mistake.

Kasuka knows how sensitive Shizuo has become.

While Shizuo may possess a strength unrivaled by most other angels, his emotional state is like that of a rose petal — fragile, soft, and easily torn despite its sweetness. Kasuka is unable to defend Shizuo from the teasing and snide comments simply because the blond does not want him to. And after a time Kasuka realizes that it's a sort of contradicting need for pity. Shizuo's desire for acceptance stems from his own inability to cope with the reality of his strange sensibility of being.

There is little that Kasuka can do for him except to calm his anger; Shizuo must learn to fly on his own.


	2. 1:2 Watch the clouds rolling in

_his spasming fingernails peel the skin of the hardwood floor like mere orange rinds curling to give off their sweet essence_

* * *

><p>The very first time Shizuo catches a glimpse of the raven is quite literally face to face.<p>

He's walking with Shinra on the outer school grounds, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, while he vaguely listens to the boy chatter on and on about his quote-unquote "girlfriend," whom he still hasn't had a chance to meet. The air still rings fresh with the last bell of the day, and Shizuo lets free a sigh of relief, as if the mere concept of school has been so stifling he can hardly breathe.

"-and so, as I was… Shizuo, are you even listening to me?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah."

"_'Oh. Yeah,'_" he scoffs, twisting his words with sarcasm and kicking the dirt with his shoes. His wings are small, delicate, and tinted with the faint color of a quiet storm. "Repeat what I just said."

"You sounded like a teacher just now."

"Nope, that's not what I said, Shizuo."

"Don't make me punch your face in."

"Be careful, Shizuo! Someone might hear you…" Shinra waggles a finger next to his face, and Shizuo feels the vein in his temple already on the verge of popping.

"Well? What did you say?" Shizuo manages to get out through grit teeth.

"I said, you know that Orihara kid? Well– yesterday, he—"

"Nope."

"…Huh?"

Shizuo shrugs his shoulders. "Don't know 'im."

Shinra's grey framed eyes are wide when Shizuo glances over through his peripherals. They turn back to the street before them. "Really?"

"And I don't want to."

"Aw, come on, Shizuo! It'd be good for you to make some new friends, maybe even—"

A rush of wind, and suddenly a pair of striking red eyes materializes before his own. The blond can barely take in the outstretched horizon of the raven's thin, light pinions before the figure makes a sharp turn, grazing Shizuo's shoulder, and launches back up into the air with an arch of his back. Shizuo is almost in awe until his eyes meet ruby red, and "meet" turns to "clash" as his own chocolate orbs narrow— he's _mocking_ him.

The raven lands with another low swoop, wings thrusting against the breeze and dropping him gently to the middle of the vacant street. Lean legs bending to absorb the shock of gravity, he looks up again and grins crookedly.

"Ah, speak of the devil— Shizuo, this is Orihara Izaya."

"Tch," the blond spits. "'New friends' my ass."

Izaya's wings retract to fold in at his back. "So hostile! What kind of angel are _you?_"

Shizuo's head snaps in his direction and he growls in less-than-tepid response. Nearby projectiles have already been taken into account, a habit developed from early lifestyle. Izaya is mocking, taunting, no– _ridiculing_ him, as if he's nothing more than a maggot, the lowest of the low— when Shizuo can only try to convince himself that it's the other way around.

"Now now," Shinra coaxes in attempt to ease tension as he steps between them, "We don't want any trouble. Do we, Shizuo?"

Anger is growing to a rolling boil inside the blond, fingers and biceps flexing dangerously.

"Oh my! Trouble? I _have_ to see this~"

Reacting to just a minuscule movement from Shizuo, Izaya hurls himself into the air again, making an arc near the roof of the building behind them. Shizuo's hand is already wrapped around a Yield sign, bending and tearing it soundly from the ground, and with one pitch he flings the metal pole like a javelin. It narrowly misses the raven, who perches himself on the rooftop's edge and laughs, flaunting a skill the blond lacks.

"What's this?" he calls down, sadistic sanguine twinkling with newfound mirth while his voice rings a high note of derision. "Oh~ Shizu-chan can't fly, can he?"

And suddenly, this time, it is the nickname that drives an iron chisel into his heart each time it's spoken.


	3. 1:3 Catch the muted flashes

_his train of thought had taken to the tracks with "I can take this" and now ends at a station called "please kill me"_

* * *

><p>Their graduation is a descendent into some sort of strange version of "adulthood." The ceremony: an over-celebrated, ostentatious explosion that gives Shizuo a headache, making him turn away and forcing him to watch the gaping Shinra sitting beside him. As the last of the fireworks are cast into the darkening sunset sky, Shizuo watches the multicolored sparks fade and die. His wings flinch.<p>

He scans the crowd after the ceremony, other graduates now joining their parents, and sees Shinra practically fly into his girlfriend's arms. Shizuo had first been introduced to Celty briefly in their third year. It had been no surprise to find out Shinra's interest of affection wasn't exactly what one might call "normal," but what had stunned him first and foremost was not her mysterious, vague form, or the unusual craft of her wings — a dark, shadowy substance, material yet shapeless like how ink billows and curls in water — but the aura with which she regarded him. For what seemed like the first time in his life, Shizuo was not questioned for his existence.

It was, in an odd way, comforting.

A smile creeps onto Shizuo's lips as Shinra deliberately ignores his strange father, whose face he has still not seen and does not particularly want to see. Instead, his eyes sweep over the sea of people, glancing up at the few groups who have launched themselves into the dimming sky and flown home. Shizuo has still not found his parents and brother.

He doesn't want himself to think he's beginning to tolerate the damn insect, or that his gradually growing desire to know more about Izaya's personal life is in any way diminishing his hatred for him, but the curiosity is ravenously eating him away until he finally finds the short, thin figure off to the edge of the flock.

_He is alone._

_Watching the empty, starless sky._

"Nii-san."

The hand on his shoulder is something he has long grown used to, but nevertheless it still startles him. Shizuo finds normality in the matte mocha eyes of his brother and the congratulatory gazes of his parents. The tight hugs the two of them give, pressing his defunct wings into his back, are an all-too-constant reminder of his personal malfunction. He tries his best to smile for them, but his heart is heavy on the walk home.

It is years until Shizuo sees Izaya again.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry this chapter's a little short!<strong>

**All the positive feedback is really encouraging :D Thank you for reading~**


	4. 1:4 Hear the roars of thunder

_the worst part is that he shouldn't, won't, can't turn around_

* * *

><p>Shizuo finds out quickly that desk jobs do not suit him; <em>especially<em> when dangerous tools like staplers, chairs, and CPUs are just within an arm's reach.

He gets the pink slip only twice. The other five come straight from his boss, verbally and strung with curses and spit. Within Shizuo's necessarily arbitrary job-hopping, he has managed to shatter nine desk objects, break five chairs, throw _three_ chairs at an annoying coworker, chuck a water cooler that broke through the wall, punch a fist through two screen monitors, and toss a whole computer, parts and all, out of the fifth-story window.

The blond returns home to a eviction notice.

Packing what little he owns into the old backpack he used back in high school, Shizuo sets out before the twenty-four hours of his notice are up. The backpack has character, with the kind of wear and tear symbolic of a former life that has not entirely left him. He smiles as he checks one of the smaller front pockets and happens upon a nearly empty roll of gauze that Shinra had forced upon him after school one day.

In his short moment of reminiscence, he can still feel the bandages around his coverts when a street gang went after his wings. He'd been cut up quite badly, but when Shinra pointed out the blood in his feathers, the blond was genuinely surprised simply because he hadn't felt a thing. His wings were numb and insubstantial yet still remained a dead weight, like a broken ankle hanging loosely in the air from a competent leg.

Shizuo hops up onto the nearest wall, a sloping and eroding composition of grey-toned stone and trails upon trails of cement holding it all together; at least, what is left of it. Letting his backpack dangle by one strap from his shoulder, he swings his legs up and down in two half pendulum arcs. Time wastes away until there is nothing better to do than find a new apartment and another job.

"Hello and welcome to Fusai's, my name is Shizuo and I'll be your–"

The blond pauses and grimaces when he looks up to see Tom pulling his mouth up into a smile, a never-quite-subtle suggestion. "Smile, Shizuo. Sometimes, it doesn't matter what you break or when you lose your temper, if you smile."

Shizuo's attempt at a smile has Tom bending over with laughter. And Shizuo would kill him for it, if it weren't for the fact that his former high school senior had helped him get this job in the first place. But since he'd only known desk jobs in his volatile career, he had to ask another favor: socialization coaching. If there was one thing that Shizuo hadn't grown accustomed to by having it beaten into him since age ten, it was being around people; not only that, but being around people and maintaining a civil appearance the blond frankly had never bothered to learn.

For a week or two and with the after hours help from Tom, Shizuo has, for the most part, learned the ropes to the prominent yet hole-in-the-wall restaurant. He's only broken two plates and secretly ruined only one of his uniforms in a fit of rage that struck him after a particularly frustrating day. Smiles come more naturally and seem to be attracting customers by his charm and uniqueness.

"Excuse me, boy."

A vein pops in Shizuo's temple, which is a sensation he hasn't felt in a long while. If there's one thing you're not exactly supposed to call a waiter, out of pure common courtesy in public, it's "boy." Nevertheless, Tom told him never to argue with a customer, so Shizuo turns around, folding the circular tray under his arm, and makes his way to one of his tables.

"Yes, sir?" he says, wanting to let it out through gritted teeth.

"I ordered this steak rare." Shizuo takes the plate to inspect the inside of the meat.

"Sir, uh… forgive me, but, this _is_ rare–"

"I know what rare looks like, now take it back and make me another!"

"Calm down, dear," his wife cajoles from across the table. Clearly, however, she has no affect on him. Shizuo glances back at the husband, then beside where he sits, where a small girl of about seven is sitting rather uncomfortably. He fondly remembers taking her order when she piped up, "What do you recommend?" as if she was trying to sound like an adult. When she ordered the grilled cheese, Shizuo had given her a high five.

"Sir, I must make you aware that we do have a surcharge for any order that needs to be remade–"

"I ordered a rare steak, and I'll pay what it says on the menu."

"I-Is it really that important?" Shizuo almost blurts out, instantly regretting it. He's stepped over the line, bit off more than he could possibly chew, and should have quit while he was ahead — if he'd ever _been_ ahead in the first place.

The man rockets from his chair. "Well I never! How _dare_ you" -_snap- _"speak to me that way, _boy!" -snap-_ "Never in my life have I been treated so rudely" _-snap-_ "been so humiliated in all my life–"

The table disappears.

A high-pitched wail clears the crimson haze from his eyes.

The restaurant is enveloped in hushed whispers as the wife rushes to the girl's aid. Her shaking body, still loud with cries, lies just slightly beneath the splintered table. Other restaurant employees have rushed out of the kitchen to see the commotion. Hesitantly, with a slow and careful grace despite the way his heart is pounding against his ribcage like a jackhammer, he lowers himself on one knee and reaches out a hand; the other rises to his parted lips.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers under his breath. It's enough for the woman to hear, however, and she strikes his hand away with the aggression of a protective mother.

_"Don't touch my child!"_

Out of the corner of his eye, Shizuo sees his boss hanging his head in disappointment and shame. The blond understands, and gets to his feet while others tend to the cleanup. Shizuo can't bring himself to smile; he knows it won't get him out of this one. As he goes, Tom locks eyes with him, sorrow painting his features and drooping his wings, before averting his gaze to the carpeted floor.

Shizuo wonders if it's not the type of job that seems to be the problem, but rather his inability to function in common society without losing all control and hurting a perfectly innocent angel. He knows he deserved to be thrown out into the pouring rain tonight.


	5. 1:5 Stand and wait for the humble strike

_it's those same poisonous fingers that bandage the crisp wounds with a tone of washing-your-back courtesy, as if in justified atonement._

* * *

><p>"Don't do it."<p>

"Fuck," he whispers under his breath. Shizuo can hear Shinra like he's right behind him, but there is no useless grip on his sleeve to hold him back. Now, as he stands unsteadily on the tip of the tower's needle, the persistent voice of reason and a long-repressed conscience is beginning to make him rethink his decision. His legs are whelmed with the vague tremor of time's unbalance.

How long has he been up here?

Shizuo wants to check his watch, but he fears that any movement, any disruption in his equilibrium, might end up making the decision for him. It's like he's a tiny chick, the defective, the smallest of the hatch; tempting fate at the edge of the nest with the unsettling terror that he is simply not yet ready, only for his mother to inch forward from behind and give him the nudge he needs.

Fuck, will he _ever_ be ready?

The blond tries flapping his wings. They raise like rusted hinges with spells of enfeeblement. The feathers spread out in a fan, but they are easily affected by the oncoming wind, and he starts to stagger. Breathe, breathe, he tells himself, though it does little to quell his rising dread.

_Like a bandaid. Just rip it off._

But he could die.

_Shizuo, afraid of dying? There are a number of people who might laugh at that notion._

In the back of his mind he sees a thin-lipped grin splitting a familiar face.

_Fucking insect. Fucking __parasite__._

Shizuo leans forward.

There is the pause he's been told to expect. That short moment when time seems eternally frozen, his heart swells and stops, and everything surrounding disappears: just him, the air, and the sky. One. It may seem crazy, but right before gravity is supposed to cling to him, pull him down, he feels normal– no, _more_ than normal– _alive, immortal, __uncaged__. _But the pause has gone on for too long, Shizuo realizes, now starting to feel the slight pressure that has been placed at his abdomen and behind the hinges of his knees. It's only when he opens his eyes that he is aware they were closed to begin with.

A dark figure appears to be hovering before him until it leisurely beats its crepuscular wings to raise itself on the wind. For once, the word 'envy' does not even dare to cross his mind at the sight of an ability surely out of reach. The pressure hardens, still gentle, pushing Shizuo up from his angle and into a safer stance on the needle.

_What were you about to do?_

Shizuo has never spoken to her before. Now, as her soundless words seem to trickle into his own subconscious, all his lips are able to do is form her name.

"Celty."

_I'm sorry, you must not be used to this. How I talk, _she tells him almost awkwardly.

"I…think I can handle it."

The swirls from her open neck seem to nod. _So? What did I just stop? An accident, or a stupid idea?_

"Celty–" he sighs.

The smoke twitches in the cool air. _The latter. You're lucky I was here._

Shizuo wants to believe he would have been able to do it. That he wouldn't need to continue to depend on other angels, that he might just once get a taste of what everyone else deemed as commonplace, a child's rite of passage alongside reading and basic math. Shizuo could have been able to save Kasuka had he possibly failed his first attempt for flight when they were young, or might have joined Skyball instead of cross country in high school.

So much, he's missed.

Celty's cool hand brushes his face, grounding him back to reality.

_It's not your time to die yet._

Shizuo does not ask why it is her job to know whose time was whose. To die.

But the revelation strikes him like the pavement inevitably would have. His voice is a mere sibilation caught by the wind, heard only by the black creature before him.

"I would have died?"


	6. Part 2 Chapter 1

"I think I know exactly why they didn't put me on the mailing list."

"Why?"

Shinra starts to clean his glasses while Celty remains fickle and pedantic about every fraction of an inch of the doctor's suit. His tie has already been tied, retied, and switched out six times. She uses a slither of smoke to brush too-long bangs away from his boyish face.

"Because they don't want me there, that's why," Shizuo says to the mirror with a slight growling inflection. He's been dressed for over half an hour and sits on Shinra's couch, one leg hooked over the other. Glancing into the glass frame from his angle is the only way he can see Shinra without having to crane his neck; it's rather lazy, but Shizuo likes to think more in terms of being 'practical.' "It's not like they'd just… forget."

"Well I thought that would be the first thing to pop into your mind."

"Shinra…" he snarls.

"Hey, you said it, not me. Could you please put on a tie? You look like a teenager."

Shizuo is dressed in the minimum of black slacks and a dress shirt, but the first four buttons are undone and his sleeves are haphazardly rolled up. At the suggestion of Tom, with whom he still keeps contact, a pair of blue designer sunglasses adorn the bridge of his nose over satin brown eyes. He feels his pocket for a comforting box of cigarettes.

"So the flea will have something to grab onto when he comes after me? No chance. Are you done yet?"

"What time is it?"

"Seven thirty."

"Shit!" The curse earns a whack from Celty. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"You seemed pretty damn occupied, I didn't want to disturb you," Shizuo says almost smugly. Shinra runs his hands over the front of his suit, then decides he wants the blazer opened. Celty gives him a quick 'kiss', which more or less involves brief necking and a shadowy caress.

"It _starts_ at seven thirty," Shinra exclaims hastily as they leave. "We're going to be late!"

"Why do you even care if we're a little late?"

"Because of you, we have to walk, so we're not going to be just a _little_ late—"

"If I'm such a fucking burden to you, go on!" The outburst makes Shinra stop in his tracks, dress shoes sounding against the concrete. "Fly your way there, I'll walk. S'not like I'm not used to it."

Shinra's grey eyes turn down, glancing at the blond's fists tightly clenched, then stuffs his hands in his pockets, moving the blazer out of the way in the process. "I didn't mean it like that, Shizuo… Shizuo, I'm sorry. You're right, it's a stupid, cheap party and I'll bet no one's going to show up anyway. Let's just keep walking, c'mon."

"No, you go ahead–"

"Shizuo–"

"I said go."

Shinra can't find any words to apologize further as an expression of how horribly he regrets what he's said. He gives Shizuo his only visible desolation, one last stare swimming with remorse, before jetting off into the seven-thirty-five sky. It is only when he can no longer make out the doctor's gossamer figure against a moonless curtain that his fists unclench.

Heat pulses like the heart of a kindling fire as the end of a cigarette begins to touch off. A wispy trail of smoke draws its way down in spiral staircases when his hand falls at his side, white and orange resting torpidly between two fingers. At last, with no comparison, Shizuo feels at peace.


	7. Part 2 Chapter 2

Though the city seems more lively at night, it is also more serene, and a strange feeling comes over the blond as he walks, knowing that what he has now is ephemeral, pure but temporary. As the sun will rise, the curtain will drop, and little will have changed – yet the last mile and a half gives him a view no angel has seen from the air.

He sees the uncleanliness of the streets. A coat of grime seems to veneer every surface, like a gritty varnish; invisible, however darkening. While he passes over sidewalk after sidewalk, he wonders if he's the one who caused those cracks in the cement. Why has he never been in this part of town? It can't be this filthy everywhere else, or God knows there would already be activists sweeping across the skies in protest.

Shizuo snuffs out his cigarette, reluctant to contribute to the pollution of this place.

It's not the way he usually takes; back then, it was Kasuka or Shinra who led the way, and Shizuo, lost in his own thoughts, was not one for attentiveness. Now, he longs to find a familiar landmark. All he needs is a vantage point.

_Fuck it._

Shizuo breaks into a run, easily jumping to fifteen in four seconds due to strong, exercised legs. He has no purpose, no goal, no direction, but freedom. No one can tell him he's late for an event, or to get back on track, because there _is_ no track, and he can't lose that part of him now. Not now, not when the wind is tugging back at his hair and the pavement at his feet is going soft from his momentum.

Spur of the moment, he decides to turn the corner sharply.

He slips and falls hard on his side.

The blow to his pride hurts more than the injuries – simple scrapes and bruises and a skid burn on his wrist – he's sustained from the fall. Everything he strived for in that run, all of it, gone in a mere instant like he'd never thought possible. Shizuo uses his hands to push himself to his feet and brushes the dust from his clothes. There's a scuff in his shirt, which he's not all too happy about, but as he looks up he sees a blue and purple glow coming from an area across the street. Groups of people about his age are flocking toward it.

Well. He's arrived.

Shizuo returns to a walk, crosses the street, turns into his destination, and almost knocks Shinra over.

"Ah! Shizuo, you made it."

"Yeah," he answers curtly.

"L-look, Shizuo, about earlier–"

"It's fine, don't worry about it."

Shinra sighs, then nods eagerly. "Here, come on over to the bar, have a drink with me!"

"I don't drink."

"You know the most they'll have here is 10 proof, right?" Shinra jokes then, "This may be Heaven, but sinning's for the basement–"

"_I don't drink_," Shizuo repeats through clenched teeth.

"You can have a soda, then. But promise me you'll let go a little. Just for tonight?"

Shizuo grimaces, placing his hands on the counter when they reach the bar. The bartender is entertaining drinkers with bottle flips and fire tricks worthy of a three-ring circus. Music is pulsing through the crowd as one of the band members on the corner stage plays what looks and sounds like an electric harp. The circular tables that litter the area unoccupied by the dance floor are empty, chair turned out or used to hang coats. Shizuo scans the place, seeing one or two familiar faces in the crowd; none of them belong to the person he's looking for.


	8. Part 2 Chapter 3

Soon, the various bodies pressed against him, some he vaguely remembers and others he wonders why they're here, have him running for a breath of fresh air. He retreats to the far wall and slumps against it, tossing his drink on the way. He's only had one shot, still less than 10 proof, but it's enough to make the angel lightheaded.

Swallowing the bitter taste until it's gone, Shizuo spots an open door and, looking around to make sure no one sees him escape, slips inside. He's careful about closing the door softly behind him, despite the music that he's surprised hasn't impaled anyone's eardrums. Before him is a winding spiral staircase — the passage going up in the middle is obvious for the angels who can fly, but Shizuo is used to stairs. It's nothing new – having to take the long way.

On the way up, stamina still never failing him, he sees a small window looking out over the hall. The noise is now muted, so it's more or less tolerable, but from this height he's amazed at how many people there are. They can't _all_ have gone to Raijin, much less in neighboring years. Shizuo shakes his head and keeps walking.

He must have climbed more than a few flights, because when he gets to the very top where there are no more stairs, it's impossible to ignore the burn in his calves and stress in his lungs, the stiff pounding of his heart threatening to break his ribs. But there's another door and no other exits, so Shizuo takes it.

His skin is struck with the cool night air, and he sucks it in, body holding still for a few moments, as the chill wraps around him. He feels safe; nevertheless, he shivers with warmblooded necessity. Shizuo is conscious of the moisture in the air sticking to the hairs on his arms, and a swing of an arm at his side turns it thick like he's swimming in it, immersed just enough to keep afloat but not enough to drown.

Shizuo steps across the rooftop, aware of the sound his shoes make when they touch the concrete squares. Spotting the faint checkered pattern, he has to wonder if he's come across a version of chess that uses human players – the Chess club members at Raijin always seemed to disappear during their meeting times. But the contrast in colors has long faded now, fraying at the edges to mimic those of the death garments of a ghost, those of a watercolor's silhouette, the way it darkens like a stain in the most inconvenient of places.

Like his wings may as well be.

Shizuo makes his way to the nearest edge of the roof. What if he jumps? He's had this conversation with himself before, and he doesn't exactly want to relive it, but the notion is in his head now and it sticks. From up here, the other angels below look like ants. He can only see the tops of their heads, a glimpse of wings here and there spotted with strobe light blue and purple and red and yellow, and from there they have no bodies. Ants.

Shizuo is the ant. Insignificant, he tells himself.

Then again, who has the right to judge the significance of a living being?

Significance is judged by usefulness. And unless Shizuo jumps right now and flies, well… he'd be useless anyway, if he merely fell, and dying wouldn't affect those people down below any more than the alcohol coursing through their system.

"Need help with that?"

At first he thinks the voice has come from Celty, the way it flows into his mind, bypassing his ears and sinking straight into his consciousness. But the sinking feeling is that of a knife, piercing fast enough to sharpen the pain but not enough to kill.

Shizuo looks for the source, and then he doesn't know how he hadn't noticed him before. Maybe wishful thinking had made him blind.

"Izaya…"

The raven is seated on the opposite edge of the rooftop, spine twisted as he faces him. He's got that smile, that same smile, the kind of smile that makes Shizuo want to take his own blade and split it further up his face. And then he chuckles in his characteristic way, one that can only search for an echo. That chuckle has been the soundtrack to Shizuo's nightmares for years, to the point that the waves have been carved into his brain and can be played back like a vinyl record, inflection for inflection. But it's so late and so dark that Shizuo can't see Izaya's eyes, and he figures it's for the best; seeing those eyes would have him seeing blood as red as those very orbs.

He can't think of any color he loathes more.

Izaya turns away again, back to the crowds below, and his body rocks and sways. Only when Shizuo steps closer does he see it's from kicking his legs back and forth. Like a child. Despite his sophisticated tastes and tendency to be perceived as a bit of a mental case, Izaya has always been childlike, always playing games – both on the board and in peoples' heads. Always laughing, always having fun at another's expense with total disregard for any sort of consequences. Most have figured he can purely buy himself out of any situation.

"What to say, what to say," Izaya says at the ground far down, shaking his head. A saccharine smile is cocked over just slightly to greet him. "'Long time no see'? Let's start with that."

"After not having seen you for several years? You're gonna have to try harder than that, flea."

"Why don't you sit down, Shizu-chan."

It is a statement — an _order_, even — not a question, and that's what bothers Shizuo.

"Where've you been off to?" the blond asks. He can't even begin to imagine the type of trouble Izaya could have been causing all this time. "Chasing tail? Plotting extortion? Consorting with lowlifes?"

"Jesus consorted with lowlifes."

His smile is almost sad in the way his lips twitch upward only slightly. Shizuo can feel his fingers curling even tighter into his palms, rooting stiff fists to his sides. _As if Izaya can even compare himself to such a charitable being_. "You know what I mean."

"Why don't you sit down," Izaya says again.

"Next to you?" Shizuo blows air past his lips in a 'pfff' sound. "Get bent."

"But haven't your feet simply had enough with the floor?"

When Shizuo looks back at Izaya, Izaya's head is turned away, black mop of hair hiding any readable features. A breeze picks up again, wrapping Shizuo in its luxurious influence.

"Izaya."

"What?"

"Where are your wings?"

The breeze stops completely. Shizuo can't feel his fingers. He registers once again the faint music pulsing from downstairs and wonders if Kasuka has come to the reunion too. Most likely not.

"Sit down, Shizu-chan."

It's like Izaya's the father sitting his son down to explain that things between Mom and Dad aren't exactly working out. Shizuo doesn't sit down with Izaya, but rather, takes a small step back.

"I'm not getting anywhere near you."

"Either way is for the best."

It's a few minutes before Shizuo finally huffs and sits down, albeit several feet away from where Izaya is perched. He wants a cigarette, and badly, but somewhere along the way, the box has disappeared. He knows he never should have trusted these new suit pockets.

"You don't make any sense."

"Could say the same," Izaya sighs contentedly. His feet start kicking again, heels narrowly missing the side of the building each time he comes down, leg extending straight out but somewhat bent when it comes up.

It's then that Shizuo answers his own question. A glance at Izaya's back reveals that he does, indeed, still have wings; but they are black, blacker than the blackest night, vanishing into Izaya's familiar color scheme outfit.

"Jesus," Shizuo breathes.

"Not my name," Izaya responds with a shrug, "but I'll take it, I guess. Come what may."

"What the Hell did you do, flea?"


	9. Part 2 Chapter 4

Izaya smirks at the evening air. Shizuo watches his face for a sign, any movement, any contour that might give away what's going on behind those eyes. He's as batshit-euphoric as he ever was, but the smile encroaching onto his lips does not seem to reach his eyes. Shizuo might rather have wanted to be graced with a strength of perception than a strength of physicality.

Orihara Izaya. Who knows now what he has become.

It paints a pretty picture, really, but a frightening one. Izaya's overall coloration has always been violent and dark; death and shadows and fear, never pertaining to the warmth of roses but instead of blood. In spite of that, those white wings, the ones he bore when Shizuo had seen him last, had added a negligible amount of majesty and purity, the one part of him that had been left untainted. Orihara Izaya's blood had turned black and bled into his feathers.

Shizuo was wrong before; the only color he hates more than red is black.

"Ah," Izaya says in a breathy sort of chuckle, the 'whoops, clumsy me' kind. "I guess it has been long, hasn't it?"

"What did you do," Shizuo repeats. It's less of a question and more of a command, but Izaya being Izaya, he can't give a straight answer.

"Shizu-chan doesn't know, does he…"

Shizuo can smell iron and fruit juice and concrete. It drifts up from the rooftop, from the very tile, from the streets and the party below. Shinra is probably wondering where he is now.

"Spit it out, Izaya, what did you do?"

"No one ever told you what black wings mean?"

"That you're an ass?"

Izaya's head careens back when he bursts out laughing so hard he might fall off the tower. It would be a danger if they were mere mortals, but they are angels, and the only one in danger here is Shizuo.

Shizuo can't help but notice the delicate slope of his neck, and the thought of crushing it only comes in close second.

"I did something, Shizu-chan." He lifts one foot to the edge of the concrete, drawing one knee in. "Something bad."

"What?"

Izaya giggles. _Giggles._ "I can't tell Shizu-chan. Shizu-chan can't know what I did~"

Shizuo begins to recoil away as Izaya leans a little closer. "You're freakin' me out, flea."

"Can Shizu-chan guess?"

"Stop it."

"Just guess."

"Flea, you—"

A shriek of metal cuts through the air. There is a tear in Shizuo's coat sleeve. He puts it all together in a split second and shifts back to a safe distance before standing up and backing away from the roof's edge. Izaya's gleeful stare is predatory; his canines give him the air of something all the more demonic. In the same instant, Izaya is standing too, open knife resting gently in the palm of his hand.

"Sneaky little shit, I _knew _you had something up your sleeve."

Izaya laughs aloud, hand to stomach. "I really _did_, didn't I?" The sound echoes.

He slices again; Shizuo jumps out of the way, still feeling the air shifting from the attack. Izaya chuckles as he watches the blond dance.

"Shizu-chan's still useless, huh?" Another swing that catches on his shirt. "Still can't fly!" Yet another, dislodging a button from his blazer. "Can't do anything, no one wants him — Heiwajima Shizuo the powerless legend!"

"Shut up!" Shizuo's only threat is his words, for there is nothing here that he can use to fight back but his fists, and the last thing he wants is blood on his hands regardless of whose blood it is. The cold air cannot protect him now.

Izaya's laugh is deafening and merciless. "There is no limit to what I am capable of, Shizu-chan! So just give it up~!" Shizuo notices an object suddenly embedded at the wall beside his head, and that's when he sees that Izaya has thrown the knife this time. "Or better yet…" The blond finds his back pressed against that very wall. There's nowhere else to run. "Better yet, just die!"

Shizuo dashes for the door that leads to the stairwell as another knife hits the wall. Glancing down, it seems dizzying and overwhelming, but he summons the strength to start down the stairs, running one two three at a time, four even. When he looks back, Izaya has followed him every step of the way.

"Ask and you shall receive, Shizu-chan~!"

For once, Shizuo sees the irony that Izaya is chasing _him_ rather than the other way around. But Shizuo's heart is dead set racing with fear — he has no doubt in his mind that Izaya has every intent to kill him this time. Shizuo looks back again, and suddenly the flea is gone. The stairwell is too quiet. Izaya is hiding.

He thinks there's nowhere else to go but down, and yet when he turns back he finds Izaya standing just a few steps below him with a grin.

"Shi~zu~chan~"

He grips the railing and flings his body over the side. There's no plan from there, and for a moment he's in complete free fall until his hands find the railing two levels below. Shizuo winces from momentum's impact of swinging forward to hit the side of the stairs, but the rising adrenaline helps him scramble over onto the stairs again.

"You're smarter than I thought you were, Shizu-chan!" His laughter bounces off the walls of the tower, and though it sounds distant, Shizuo knows that the raven is right on his heels. His only choice is to keep running, even as his lungs burn and his legs shake.

Shizuo reaches the main floor and puts the last of his ability into pushing the door open. The party is as if he's never left it. He quickly closes the entrance behind him and doubles over, breathing harder than he's ever breathed. A sheen of cold sweat has gathered on his forehead and dampened the roots of his hair.

"Ah, Shizuo!" The blond doesn't look up when he's addressed. "Shizuo, there you are! We've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Uh huh," he says, standing straight even when he wants nothing more than to collapse. His neck hurts when he nods his head.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah." He tries to shake it off. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Having a good time?"

Not wanting to involve Shinra, Shizuo shrugs weakly. Maybe it's the adrenaline wearing off, but it's been a long time since he's felt this exhausted. He wavers a little, doing his best to keep upright.

"Good. Okay. Come with me."

Shizuo blindly follows in the hopes that maybe they're going to leave now. He can't stand another second knowing that at any moment the flea–

"So anyway, look who I ran into!"

…could be standing innocently in front of him.

Shizuo's heart drops into his stomach and churns until he becomes nauseous, and though the whole process takes a mere two seconds, it feels like an eternity, watching Izaya's smile morph each time he looks between the doctor and the blond.

"Hey, Shizu-chan! Long time no see! I know we had a bad run," he says the words like a subtle inside joke, "you know, back in high school, but no hard feelings, ne?"

_No hard feelings, my ass._

"Shizuo, are you okay?" Shinra turns to Izaya briefly. "He hasn't been feeling too well, I don't think he ever liked crowds."

"Must be it," Izaya says, voice muted to Shizuo's ears like he's underwater.

"Shinra, let's just go. I want to go."

Shinra sighs. "Alright, I understand. Another time, Izaya." He moves past him, beckoning for Shizuo to follow, but Shizuo can't seem to walk more than a few steps before he feels like he's about to vomit.

He barely registers the blade sliding into his body as if it's made of butter.

"Shizuo, are you- SHIZUO!"

The blond crumbles to his knees, unwilling to clutch the wound for fear of seeing the blood on his own hands. By the time Shinra has knelt down to him, the knife has already shot back up to its home inside Izaya's sleeve. Burnt amber eyes flutter in and out of lucidity, and the last thing he hears, whether it's real or in his head he can't tell, is the sound of Izaya's unforgiving and unabated laughter.


	10. Part 2 Chapter 5

**_Thank you so much for the feedback!_**

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><p>"God<em>dammit<em>, Shinra."

Shinra immediately stops and retreats. "I-I'm sorry, did that hurt?"

"Nuh uh." Shizuo shakes his head down at the doctor. "Nothing you did. I'm just thinking."

"I think it's more like you're brooding, Shizuo." Shinra continues applying isopropyl alcohol to the area around the fresh stitches with a cotton ball held by a pair of forceps. The wound is only a couple inches tall just above the navel, but it's deep too, deep enough to have caused internal bleeding and ultimately a rather rushed surgery to stop the hemorrhage.

Shizuo can be heard muttering to himself, words like "flea" and "bastard" and "kill" and "freak" popping up until the flurry of insults and threats contains no string of coherency and his fingers wrap around the edges of the medical table hard enough to bend his fingers into the metal.

"Shizuo, I've told you this time and time again since last night, but there's no way to prove it was Izaya."

The doctor picks up the roll of wide gauze and starts to wind it slowly and carefully around Shizuo's abdomen.

"Who else could it have been, ha?"

"Well Christ -" Shinra briefly pauses to cross his heart "- I didn't even notice the wound until Celty brought you to my place!"

Shizuo winces at a particularly hard tug that tightens the gauze around him. "Are you… Are you saying I did this to myself?"

"I never said that." Shinra clearly tries to distract the conversation by reaching for the bandages. Shizuo swipes them quickly and holds them high over his head; the gesture stretches the skin of his torso and the wound flares up, but he pays no mind.

"You implied it."

"I'm not going to say it's not possible—"

"Fuck, Shinra! As if I would do this to myself—"

"I've been waiting!"

Shizuo can see the doctor's lips quiver and his eyes lock up. He relaxes visibly, and the pain subsides.

"Waiting for…?"

"Give me back my equipment and I'll tell you."

The blond angel wordlessly hands him the bandages. Shinra purses his lips as he sets to work wrapping the elastic cloth over the gauze. Even from his slightly higher vantage, Shizuo can't see past his thick rimmed glasses and sweep of gentle brown hair. Shinra's fingers are careful but certain, holding a kind of firmness that sets Shizuo at ease, knowing that he's more or less in good hands. Shizuo knows he's taking the time to look for the right words.

"Waiting for what?"

"For… For your self-loathing to…" There's a shudder in his throat. "…manifest."

"'Manifest'? The hell are you talking about? You saying I'm depressed?"

"No–"

"Suicidal? Well?"

"Shizuo, I'm just concerned—"

"Just like everyone else, huh?" Shizuo sneers. "Well don't be. I'm fine."

"I can't disregard the possibility—"

"How many times do I have to tell you that it was Izaya?"

"How many times have you blamed Izaya for anything that happens to you?"

"Are you done yet?"

Shinra looks down at the unfinished bandage. He wraps the rest of the length around Shizuo's middle and, silently, attaches the clasps that hold the end of the roll to the layer underneath.

"Yeah…"

Shizuo hops off the table and Shinra doesn't protest. He knows his own limitations just as much as he knows his own strength, but he's never been one to say anything whatsoever about the pain he feels. He's at the threshold when Shinra makes his decision.

"S-Shizuo."

"Mm." Shizuo doesn't turn to him. His hand rests on the door frame for a bit of support.

"When… When you shower, just wash the area with soap and water; otherwise, keep it dry. Celty will give you extra gauze and bandages to take home, and see me if there's any swelling, redness, or anything else you think might be wrong around the injured area."

Shizuo tries to process all of it, but he's got the gist of the instructions. He nods slowly.

"Thanks. Hey…"

"Yes?"

His life seems to pass before his eyes in a few lingering moments. All his failures, all his errors, all the things he did wrong and everything he never deserved.

"Have you ever… removed someone's wings before?"

It's as if the very air in the room has transformed, sucked dry, leaving Shinra only with the temporary ability to gasp.

"No…" Shinra adjusts his glasses with restless fingers. "Even if y- …someone, requested it of me," he adds quickly, "I… I never would."

"Okay." Shizuo's hand falls from the door frame as he steps out. "Just… thought I'd ask."


	11. Part 3 Chapter 1

Celty rises from the sofa when Shizuo ambles into the living room. He can tell she's been worrying by the smoke that pours from her form like water, spilling softly onto the floor and swirling along the patterns in the carpet.

_Are you feeling alright?_

"Somewhat," he says dully. His eyes follow her as she plucks a black bag from the sofa's armrest and holds it out for him.

_Shinra told me to give you this._

"Thank you."

_Will you be okay going home?_ Her shadows quiver slightly. _Do you need me to give you a ride?_

If anyone else had asked Shizuo this question, he might have seen it as a gesture of pity. It's become so common — _as if he can't fucking take care of himself_ — that it's no wonder Shinra caught on to what the blond had asked of him. However, he knows full well how genuinely concerned Celty is for him, and disregards the fact that normally it would grate on his nerves until they snapped.

"I'll be fine." Shizuo gives her a small smile, though the remainder of his expression gives no hint to contentment or relief. He tries to pass her, only to be stopped by a thin wall of darkness.

_It's okay to ask for help if you need it_, _Shizuo_.

A few minutes later, they're descending into the lower level of the building. Shizuo has never been to this part of the couple's home, but the darkness ahead sends him into a cold sweat nevertheless. Celty encourages him to follow her, reassuring in her normal soothing essence that nothing is going to happen to him, and leads him to a small corridor with a single, dusty lightbulb hanging overhead on a wire. She turns it on without flipping any sort of switch, and it buzzes and flickers to life with a click or two as the filament burns like fogged amber.

An extremely lifelike yet metallic shriek erupts from behind the nearest door.

Shizuo's legs refuse to take him any further as Celty slips inside and emerges with a dark motorbike. They take the elevator back up to ground level and wheel the bike onto the street.

"You want me to get on the back of that?"

_Not yet_.

The bike's form suddenly begins to shift in the dark air, stretching and growing and pulsing to life. The motorcycle has vanished, but in its place stands a black, saddled stallion. Like Celty, it also lacks a head, and like Celty, its wings are amorphous yet strong, nearly majestic.

Celty helps Shizuo onto the horse, instructing him to hold her around the waist when they take off. As a whole, they are invisible against a starless backdrop. He feels the wind ripping through his hair and pushing past his clothes and bandages to cool his fresh wound, and though the pain does not bother him, Shizuo nonetheless drops his forehead to Celty's shoulder in an attempt to get rid of that feeling of freedom.

He doesn't deserve it.

"Celty?" he murmurs; she can still hear him amidst the rushing air.

_Yes, Shizuo?_

"You… You wouldn't happen to know anything about…"

His pause is too great. Celty slows the winged horse to a gentle swoop and lets it linger.

_About what?_

"Wings?"

Celty knows perfectly well that Shizuo's wings are an increasingly sensitive topic.

_I know a little, I suppose. What is your question?_

"…Never mind."

_Shizuo, my powers are not far from being able to read your mind, especially when you're so open._

"Shit…" His grip slackens around her waist. "Sorry. Forget I asked."

_Just… don't think about those things anymore, okay?_

They land. Shizuo slips off with some aid from Celty, wincing at a twist of discomfort from his abdomen that sends lines of echoing pain down his limbs. He thanks her politely and sends her off, much to her reluctance. Facing his apartment, one arm bent to hold pressure to his middle, he places an unlit cigarette between his lips and steps inside for the night.


	12. Part 3 Chapter 2

It is some time before Shizuo even leaves his apartment. He cleans his wound and stitches just as Shinra had instructed him and exchanges the old bandages with fresh ones after a few days. He rations whatever remains in the fridge for the next week and shaves regularly, and overall, he keeps himself well; the overflowing ashtray at his bedside table, however, says otherwise.

When he eventually does step outside, it's to visit Shinra's — he feels that he's been needing a haircut, but the annoying little bubble of a doctor refused to come to Shizuo's place, so the blond is forced to embrace clean air and the morning delights of a real breakfast.

"It's healing well," Shinra says as he sits up from inspecting the scabbing and forming scar. His slightly distracted tone shows he was fully engrossed in his work. "The stitches can be removed now. Would you like me to take them out for you here or let them come out on their own?"

"Take 'em out, s'fine."

Shinra finds his pliers, pulls out the threads, and places them in a stainless steel tray. They're beige, almost yellow, but stained a rustic red and brown. Shizuo winces at the sliding sensation from each thread moving shallowly through his flesh.

"Really," Shizuo snorts. "Why do we always do this on the couch?"

An amused chuckle from behind — _right behind his shoulder close enough to tickle his ear —_ makes his blood run cold. Shizuo can't even move, and his heart races so fast he thinks his wound might burst open from the dangerous blood flow that rushes from his face and turns him starkly pale.

"Context, Shizu-chan~!"

Shinra frowns. "Izaya, I told you to let me know when you're going to visit."

The raven beams. "I was just in the neighborhood."

"Could've been out."

"I can see the light from the window."

Izaya places a hand on Shizuo's shoulder — a tender, delicate presence that is anything but subtle; to the blond it creates another wound, a lacerating burn that has his skin crawling and arm paralyzing down to his very fingers. He stiffens completely, back straight up and off the couch, and all he's able to do to communicate is by flitting his eyes to Shinra with a terrified stare that can only whisper, _Help me._

Izaya's fingers squeeze Shizuo's shoulder and he may as well have severed the muscle with how much he's hindered his ability to move. Shizuo can't help but subconsciously still his breathing, as if he's hiding from a demon that can hear every breath, every shift, every nerve signal that tells his body to do something other than die.

"Shinra, I know you're a bit busy right now, but… can I borrow him?"

"Izaya—"

"Just for a minute."

Shinra's eyes lower and he nods hesitantly. "Alright. Let me know when you're done."

The word 'no' is fired off in Shizuo's mind like a deafening warning bell that Shinra unfortunately cannot hear. The blond can breathe again when Izaya removes his touch, but the choking feeling returns as the raven circles the couch to sit directly across from him, not in the chair, but right on the coffee table. He listens to the clock ticking along, and though it seems like several minutes go by, Izaya waits a mere eight seconds, just staring. Like he's sitting him down for an interrogation, like Shizuo is innocent but all the evidence still points to him.

And then Izaya moves. Shizuo nearly jumps off the couch, though he doesn't have the capacity to do so. He can only jerk violently, despite the fact that Izaya has merely moved his hand from inside his own thigh to his knee. His hand lifts up towards Shizuo, carefully, and Shizuo still can't move a muscle of his own free will, _move, dammit!_ Izaya is watching him all the while, never tearing those blood-tainted orbs from Shizuo's wide eyes.

Izaya's finger brushes just the tips of the hairs on his cheek. It's enough. Shizuo doesn't know how long he's gone without breathing, but then it escapes him with a shudder and he can't tell if he's taking air in or breathing it out.

"Just like an animal." His voice holds a sick fascination, the way it seems to shine and ring, the way he's heard Shinra's when he talks about the human body. His lips curve into a smile, and the transition is so slow that Shizuo barely notices. "But you're a different kind of animal now. Small." His finger drifts down. "Helpless, fragile…" To his chin, tapping it ever so slightly upward, but he may as well have stabbed his throat. "…prey."

His hand practically crawls along Shizuo's chin to his mouth. His lips are dry and Izaya's touch is fire, burning and stinging the pink skin in its wake as the oil of his fingertips seeps into the cracks and open cuts of habit.

Shizuo wants to breathe a sigh of relief when his hand leaves him, only to come back to the blond's chest. His palm embraces the left side.

"And here. I can feel your heart beating, it's beating so fast… There's only so much flesh that separates my hand from what's inside… I could just take it, you know?"

"Don't…" Shizuo whispers pitifully, so quietly that Izaya barely catches it.

"Oh? Shizu-chan doesn't want it, ne?" He chuckles. "And I thought animals liked to be shown affection."

His touch is suddenly brought to the knife wound's scar. Shizuo's scream is silent, a useless cry from his lips as a few tears forms in his eyes.

"There are so many things I want to just… _take_, from Shizu-chan." His fingers toy and play with his healing skin. "Shizu-chan has many things that I should get to have, too… Don't you–"

"What do you want?" Shizuo's eyes are unseeing even as Izaya raises his head to stare back at him, analyzing his expression. "I-I'll give you anything, just… leave me alone…"

Shizuo can taste the salt of the tear that finds its way down his cheek and around to the corner of his mouth.

"Ah, but you see, that there is the problem…" His skin burns even hotter where Izaya drags his knuckle up his face, catching the tear and wiping the moisture away. "I can't leave you alone, because what I want… is you, Shizu-chan. So, in that case…"

Shizuo could die, right here and now, from the way Izaya is cupping his face as if in a loving gesture.

"What do I have to do in order to get what I want?"

It's been three minutes since Izaya arrived. His departure proves to pass as a mere fraction of that time.

"Think about my offer, Shizu-chan~


	13. Part 3 Chapter 3

Shizuo endures a string of sleepless nights following Izaya's visit. His body begins to form a routine. He'll lie in bed, eyes transfixed on the powered-on ceiling light until, when he finally closes his eyes, the bright ring shines purple and green beneath his eyelids. He won't turn off the light because Izaya is associated with darkness, with mystery and the unknown and misunderstood shadows in the faint breath of moonlight. But even so, Shizuo will not be able to fall asleep, so he'll get up, have a glass of milk, brush his teeth of the bacteria, and get back into bed.

Then there's the recurring feeling of his useless wings beneath him — it's always been there, but it's only now that he remembers it — and he turns over to one side, then the other, then onto his stomach, and his side again. But the wall is not nearly as interesting as the ceiling. He'll toss and turn and work up a sweat. When Shizuo can't get comfortable, he'll get up again, maybe take a shower, or watch television, or listen to music; anything to distract him from his defect and from the loud echo of Izaya's touch that burns like fresh wounds to accompany the real one.

So why, at the crack of dawn, he finds himself standing at the threshold of Izaya's old apartment, he doesn't know. There are two different types of hinges on the door, both fading in luster, and the intercom system he remembers is only a memory landmarked by a stew of open wires. He'd always ripped off that fancy intercom box when they'd still fight back in high school; he could never stand that outright statement of wealth, just taunting him nearly as much as the voice that would come through it.

Shizuo holds the handle and clicks the trigger. It's open.

The hinges complain as he gives the door a push, creaks sounding in slowing groans as it makes way for the inside of the apartment. It's nothing short of a murder scene, minus a dead body leaving a stain on the expensive hardwood. Parts of the wallpaper have been torn off. A downturned picture frame lies across the room, surrounded by a halo of glass. The sofa is angled out from the wall and three of the cushions are ripped open; their feathers are strewn over the floor like fresh snow. Over by the large window (which surprises Shizuo because it's still intact), his L-shaped desk has been completely overturned, and his computer and hard drives lie broken nearby, the monitor's cracked and a lamp, something he'd once considered modern and richly tasteful, has had its neck snapped in half.

Shizuo tries the light switch next to the doorway. The power is out. He steps inside, careful not to step on anything, seeing even more destruction: most of the books on that giant bookshelf of his are now on the floor in a pile of half-burnt ash.

The further across the floor the blond traverses, the more he begins to notice the chill and draft. But this cold is no longer comforting; it pierces his paper skin with needles of ice, draining all the blood from his cheeks and sending his nerves into nauseating stillness, the forcible paralysis that pushes his heart straight up into his throat.

Shizuo feels like he could vomit at any second.

Though he has known the apartment to be rather large in scale, he has a feeling that the bedroom is coming next. He's never gotten very far in Izaya's apartment; and as much as he's never desired to see what it would be like, especially not now, it is with a sick sort of masochism that he treads into black waters.

Both bed frame and mattress have been split down the middle.

More down feathers are spread about, more mutilated cushions and bed stuffing, more overturned lamps and pictures and tables. But none of this is what catches his eye.

"Izaya…"

The dark form hovers in a fluid, formless shape, solidified only by the stark contrast of black against cream walls and a crimson stain that has been dragged across just by where he stands.

"…Izaya, what the hell – get away from there."

"Why?"

Shizuo would give anything to have this Izaya's voice erased permanently from his memory. Izaya is standing by the wall, but the piece of wall where he wavers is not wall, but door. And the door is open, inviting the breeze to drape over him, to wrap around his ankles and gently pull.

Izaya inaudibly snorts. "How did you find me?"

Shizuo shuffles his feet, trampling some feathers in the process. _He can barely make a simple movement that doesn't damage something around him_. "Just…" _Why does he feel the need to answer him?_

_ Because it prolongs the time between now and when he starts talking again, and Shizuo just can't get around how that lifeless breath of a voice can be coming from the raven's throat._

"…In the neighborhood…"

"Oya?" Izaya quarter-turns, eyes slanted toward him the way a beast smugly gazes upon its dinner. "Does any of this surprise you, Shizu-chan?"

"Not really. Always knew you were a sick bastard."

The way his mouth twitches upward, hooking over with sickening disfigurement — he hates that too, but he's frozen and powerless when Izaya makes his way towards him.

"Ah, but it's this sick bastard you've come to, ne~?


	14. Part 3 Chapter 4

**[WARNING] mild gore ahead, tread with caution if it bothers you.**

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><p>Izaya places his forehead along the dip where Shizuo's collar bones join together as he links hands with the blond. The beat of his own heart pounds in his ears; surely Izaya can hear it hammer away, but whether he does or not, he doesn't say a thing.<p>

"Whatever you want, Shizu-chan," he whispers, breath ghosting faintly through Shizuo's clothes. "Anything. Name it, and it's yours — but keep in mind that there's a catch to all of this."

Shizuo swallows. "W-wh…" He can hardly even form words in his terror. "What's the catch?"

"That happens after your wish is granted. I promise that no harm will come to you."

Izaya's hair is ice cold against his neck. His fingers are cold too, against Shizuo's own, frigid and clammy. Shizuo has a bad — no, _horrible _feeling about this, and yet… Izaya is the only one who has expressed the will to carry out his desires. And if Izaya says that he won't hurt him, well… what's the worst that he could demand in exchange?

"My wings. I want them off." Shizuo sighs shakily with the final admission. It's the first time he's said it aloud. "C-can you do it?"

The raven steps back, hands falling away, and he lifts his head to scan Shizuo up and down. His heart skips a beat when their eyes finally clash; he can't remember ever being so transfixed merely by someone's eyes. He's drinking him in like wine from a glass, spinning the cup in his hands and watching the liquid swirl and flirt with the rim.

"I can."

Izaya turns his attention to the bed; he fixes the sheets over the broken frame and mattress as if they are already good as new. He fluffs one of the pillows attentively, almost lovingly.

"I told you that no harm will come to you. But your request will do just that. I promise, that afterwards…" His fingers trace the gash in the pillow. "Promise. I promise, I promise."

Something in Shizuo's mind is screaming at him. Yelling, tearing through his being to tell him that this is so wrong. That he should just back out now, while he still can, and leave Izaya here in his trashed apartment, alone.

But he knows just what being alone feels like. It's not a _good_ feeling, and as much as he hates Izaya… Shizuo clenches his fists until they hurt.

"When can we do it?"

"Right now, if you like." Izaya's smile is a poster child for everything that Shizuo can't stand. "As you can see, I'm not busy~"

"Yeah, I can see that," Shizuo mutters. But he's shaking beneath his poor excuse for a nonchalant façade. Izaya is the master of such things, not him.

Izaya drifts to the door and closes it, shutting out the breeze from outside. Somehow, it's even colder now, as if Shizuo could freeze into the compliant, predictable statue that Izaya's always wanted.

"Follow me."

Izaya leads him to the bathroom down the hall. The more they walk, passing crooked nails embedded in the walls and more torn wallpaper, the darker it gets, until it's nearly pitch black when they reach the door at the far end. Shizuo wonders if Izaya has just lead him into a trap and plans to kill him here, where it is narrow and there is little chance of escape.

He steps back into Shizuo a little and opens the door, stepping to the side. "After you~"

Hesitantly, Shizuo crosses the threshold. It's an expensive-looking (read: _Izaya_-looking) bathroom, with alabaster sinks and crystalline faucets. The bathtub is raised, ceramic and tile surrounded by wood and steps that lead up to it.

_Who in the world needs fucking __steps__ to get into their bathtub?_

"I can spray around a little _l'eau d'issey_, if you like," Izaya says, noticing the wrinkle of Shizuo's nose as the scent of musk hits him. "It's not much better, but it's all I have."

"Let's just get this over with."

Shizuo turns and sits at the rim of the rub. The edge of the wood digs into the skin of his thighs. He grimaces when Izaya doesn't move a muscle; he just wavers, staring, studying him like a scientist studies a rare specimen.

_Beautiful._

_Disgusting._

Izaya chuckles. "Shizu-chan, I was going to have you sit in the tub for this."

"I don't wanna get my blood on your precious fucking floors."

"You won't. Get in the tub."

"No."

The raven sighs. His ebony wings follow his shoulders downward. "Alright, Shizu-chan. Have it your way." He steps around Shizuo and, swinging his legs into the tub and sitting on the edge behind the blond, he laughs harder.

"What the hell is it now?"

"Shizu-chan, I can't start if you keep your shirt on."

Shizuo grumbles and raises his hands to his collar, only to have them bump into another set of fingers. They free the first button at a snail's pace. One hand begins to snake down under his shirt as the other works the buttons. Shizuo shivers from the biting, gelid touch.

A tongue drags over the back of his neck, making him jolt and reflexively clasp a hand over the spot, eyes wide and stomach churning from the awful sensation. Izaya is quick to move away as his fingers wrestle the last shirt button free. The shirt slips off into the tub, revealing the wings that Shizuo feels the need to bind to his back, hidden. Izaya moves the shirt off to the side and takes off the binding.

The screech of metal as the flickblade is opened has Shizuo reconsidering.

"Wait…"

"Hm?" Izaya responds distractedly.

Shizuo's mouth is dry and his lips crack when he parts them.

"Whatever I say, whatever I do, don't stop. Don't stop for anything."

Izaya is silent for what seems like an eternity. The clock in his head ticks away, as slow as his heart is fast.

"Even if I kill you?" Shizuo can't speak, can't reply to something like that. "…Ah, well, whatever you say, whatever you do. I'm going to begin now, Shizu-chan."

The blond nods and bites his lip in anticipation, but nothing happens.

"Shizu-chan, are you sure?"

"Yes."

Another pause.

"I wonder if your pain tolerance will cover this…"

"It will, now shut up and– AHH!"

The first bite of the blade is shockingly painful. It gets a little better as it goes, but it digs into the tip of his left wing. Couldn't he have just used clippers or something? Why does he have to saw at it so slowly? Wouldn't just chopping them off be easier?

_He wants him to suffer._

"Sorry, Shizu-chan~"

"Nngh… It's okay…" Shizuo tries to regulate his breathing. "Keep going."

"As you wish~"

The blade moves back and forth in his pinions, and Shizuo can feel himself stop cold when he hears the first piece of his wing drop into the bathtub.

"Maybe this was better after all, Shizu-chan. Less messy this way."

Shizuo wants to bark back something like _How the hell is this the clean way_, but then Izaya is cutting further down his wing, and he can't find his words again. It hurts more this time, hitting more nerves and striking closer to his body, but still not at the base where the feathers meet skin. And that's probably the most frustrating in all of this — Izaya is taking his sweet fucking time.

His body shudders violently as yet another piece hits the tub.

"Hold still, Shizu-chan~ There's so much left to cut away!"

Shizuo cries out when the blade singes harder into him, agonizing and sharp, worse than any of the times he broke bones or shattered his skull. Nothing is right about this, especially the way Izaya is whistling as he works.

_Thud._ Another piece joins the rest.

Then the blade is ringing cold against the skin of his shoulder blade, and Shizuo knows all too well what's about to come next.

Shizuo can't move. Shizuo can't breathe. _His spasming fingernails peel the skin of the hardwood floor like mere orange rinds curling to give off their sweet essence, _and just when he thought it couldn't get any more vile, more bone-chilling, _a screech that curdles his own blood tears like a knife to the skull, violently protesting against his eardrums until the blond realizes that the tremendous, agonizing sound has come from his own rasping throat. His mind is screaming for relief, but he knows voice alone would do no good._

Izaya takes about fifteen minutes to cut off the final part. It falls into the tub with a gruesome sound. _The worst part is that he shouldn't, won't, can't turn around_, for seeing such a sight would surely make him scream more than he has room for.

"Shizu-chan~"

His shoulders begin to shake, each tremor echoing blindingly through the exposed flesh hitting the air, as he sobs. Hot tears sear his skin, rolling down to the chin that Izaya now takes into his fingers and tilts upward, reminding Shizuo of his presence.

"Don't lose it now, Shizu-chan, not yet. We're only halfway done, aren't we?"

Shizuo gasps as he realizes that _he's going to have to go through that __again__._

"N-no…" he breathes raggedly. "N-no m-more… no…"

"Tsk tsk, Shizu-chan," Izaya sings to his ear. "That wasn't our deal."

_His train of thought had taken to the tracks with "I can take this" and now ends at a station called "please kill me"_, and by the time Izaya has finished with the second wing, Shizuo wants to die. He mentally wills Izaya to take that blade and kill him now. Slice his head off, stab his heart, his back, anything to take the pain away.

_It's those same poisonous fingers that bandage the crisp wounds with a tone of washing-your-back courtesy, as if in justified atonement. _Shizuo has no tears left even though it all still throbs and burns, but his back is lighter than it's ever been. The tub is filled, but the thought of it only reminds him that _what's been done has been done, and there's no going back._


	15. Part 3 Chapter 5

**Thanks for bearing with me~**

**Warning for... uhm. Pain, I guess?**

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><p>Shizuo hardly makes one step forward, just a few inches of his foot skidding over the floor really, before his knees give way and he comes crashing to the ground, hard; and if it weren't for his past of breaking and healing over stronger than before, the impact of his fall could have shattered a bone or two as if they were composed of glass. He gives up, sprawled over the icy linoleum. Hopes that the cold will kill him first, granting him precious, hypothermic peace. He lets himself sob dryly, as the tears no longer come, but they tear the shudders and pathetic cries from his body, each tremor sending a spike of agony into his damaged shoulder blades.<p>

Limp. Dreadful. Empty.

He's weak. His throat feels as if he's swallowed dry ice. The dead chill of the tile beneath his fingertips is the only indication that he is still alive. They leave streaks of his prints when he tries to move them. The worst of it is his back, of course — the stabbing, clawing, nauseating pain of abused flesh and severed bone. He can smell the other parts of himself still sitting there in the bathtub, just as lost as he is.

And then the footsteps start, padded sounds that grip his heart like a vice. Shizuo can't stop the gasp that shoots acrid air into his lungs. He can hear him standing right behind him, the soft shift of fabric that indicates he's kneeling down. Maybe if he stays still, he'll leave him alone; that's what he's telling himself right before slender, wintery fingers slip over his waist like frost, before thin lips press against his neck.

"What's…" Shizuo would do anything to get away from everything that is Izaya, if he could. "What's the c-catch…?"

He is fully aware of the smirk that pulls his lips taut.

"You, Shizu-chan."

"D-don't… Stop screwing with me."

"Oh, but I'm not, and it hurts that you think I am."

Shizuo barely has time to think about how horribly ironic that statement is when Izaya grips his shoulder too gently for comfort and pulls, turning Shizuo around and onto his back. The full effect of his actions does not register until the bandages make contact with the floor, and then he is screaming before he's had a chance to blink, before he recognizes the shattered words flying from his mouth.

"STOP IT!" Shizuo has no control over his body; he knows his limbs are convulsing as he tries to get away from the man holding him down, but it doesn't feel like they are his own. "STOP IT, PLEASE, I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! KILL ME!"

Izaya sits calmly, waiting for Shizuo to calm down, but it seems like an eternity passes before he does. His yells turn to gasps and whimpers as the agony begins to subside.

"K-kill me…" Shizuo whispers as his teeth chatter, jarring his words. His tears have dried streaks of salt down his face. "Please, stop, just kill me, please…"

Izaya starts to pet his hair and comb his fingers through the thick roots brown with neglect, but the praying goes on and on. His eyes somehow find tears again, and they course down his skin and drop to the tile.

"Kill me…"

"I'm sorry, Shizu-chan," the raven says with a simple shrug, and he's smiling down at the wingless angel with the kind of questionable, beautiful smile that can't possibly be sincere. "But I made a promise to someone: not to stop. Not for anything."

If there's anything the blond now regrets with all of what's left of his heart, it's those words – if there be regretful actions, they begin with stepping into this very apartment.

Izaya strokes Shizuo's temple and cheekbone with his thumb, staring down at him the way a king stares down from his throne at entertaining subjects who have just danced before him; and suddenly Shizuo understands the other half of the deal, the prize that Izaya gets out of this.

Izaya owns him now.

Relief washes over him like a damn tsunami when Izaya pulls away, but now Shizuo can't know what Izaya will do next, and it leaves a burning aftertaste in his mouth. But Izaya merely stands and steps to the door.

"Stay here for a while, I'll come get you when I'm ready."

He stays, though, waiting for an answer, for affirmation, maybe for a sign that Shizuo hasn't kicked the bucket from shock. The blond tries to keep from shivering. He cranes his neck carefully upward, staring at an inverted image of Izaya, his new master, from tired, bloodshot eyes.

When he parts his lips to speak, the skin breaks and bleeds, but he chokes his words out nonetheless.

"What… am I supposed to do…?"

Izaya chuckles oddly.

"Isn't it obvious? Blood turns a nasty odor after just a few hours. Clean up~"

The door clicks shut behind him. It takes Shizuo about ten minutes or so to pick himself off the floor, shaking and biting deep into his tongue all the while to keep from shouting. Creaking his eyes open, he glances about in search of cabinets where he might find cleaning supplies. And it isn't that he's willing to do this because Izaya told him to do it in the imperative, but because he himself can't stand it any longer — knowing all the evidence is there, around him, waiting. Shizuo grips the edge of the bathtub and uses it to pull his body standing. He's surprised that his legs have started working again.

Yet another surprise is impossible to avoid seeing. Eight neatly severed pieces of angel wings piled high in the tub, literally soaked to the bone in patches of unmistakeable scarlet.

Shizuo barely makes it to the toilet in time, tripping over his own feet and landing on his knees as he vomits what little's left in his stomach. The acid sets fire to his throat. He heaves until there's nothing left but bile that claws at his insides, and even then his body still jerks and shudders. He's beaded heavily with sweat by the time his stomach finally settles enough for him to flush the toilet blindly and drag himself away from it.

He uses the sink this time to help him stand up, though he sways with dizziness until the room stops spinning. It takes him a couple tries to find the cleaning supplies: disinfectant, a scrubbing brush, a couple rag towels, and a bottle of bleach. But as he comes back to the middle of the bathroom, he can't avoid seeing the very thing that made him sick, and he can't even look at it without his stomach churning anew; yet he can't leave it for last, for he's got to get the pieces out of the bathtub and… somewhere.

So Shizuo does the only thing he can think of. Covering his eyes just enough to block his vision from the blood, he turns on the water and lets it flow and creep slowly up the sides of the tub.

Meanwhile, the disinfectant and towels are used to wipe away any stray flecks and spots of blood that escaped the tub. By the time he's done with the floor, the tub's contents are watered down, but now the blood has formed a bath. Shizuo stops the water before it gets any higher and opens the drain, then backs up against the wall to rest a while.

Once he hears the drain's hollow gurgle, he swallows and summons the courage to approach. The segments of his former wings are now tinted a bright pink color, and the feathers have soaked up enough water to weigh them down when he tries to pick one up. Shizuo immediately drops it back in, terrified. He glances around briefly for a place he could put them, a waste bin, a hole in the ground, _anywhere…_

There.

Shizuo quickly washes his hands as soon as he's put the wings away. He uses up half the bottle of soap and scrubs his hands raw until the skin has been beaten pink.

Approaching the tub again, he realizes it's not so bad, that most of the blood has gone down the drain already. He plugs the drain, pours in a few capfuls of bleach, and runs the water again.

_Damn_, he thinks, suddenly realizing that he'd need gloves to protect his hands. _Can I do without them?_

Shizuo reasons that it can't hurt to look. But as he's searching around more cabinets for any gloves, he comes face to face with the full length mirror that lines the inner part of the large cabinet door. For the first time, he gets an all too good look at himself. Wide, terrified eyes that haven't relaxed for hours and greying bags underneath. Tangled, unkempt hair matted down with sweat. Pale appearance. Small.

For a moment, he takes a step back and scans himself up and down. His bare chest shines with sweat and grime, and there's a large smudge of red on his waist, and for a short second, he dismisses it.

But Izaya touched him there. _Izaya never washed his hands of Shizuo's blood._

It clicks, and then Shizuo is tilting forward and once again hits the ground.


	16. Part 4 Chapter 1

**Apologies, this update and the next will be a bit shorter than the others. I know what's going to happen in the plot but I'm at a bit of a block right now. Also, I'm graduating in a couple weeks so things are gonna get busy. Wehh! Enjoy~**

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><p>It feels unexpectedly warm when Shizuo starts to stir from sleep, but he doesn't want to leave it. He can't think back to when he ever wanted anything more than this, to lie in heat and comfort, where Izaya can't find him…<p>

But when he shifts to get more comfortable, the burn starts to settle. His eyes begin to sting, and when he breathes, a fire kindles harshly in his lungs and his stomach is anything but wonderful. It's as if the lining has been scarred and melted away, leaving the raw blaze exposed to himself, and he's shivering and coughing and can hardly breathe as moving his eyes is the most difficult task of all; open or closed, he can't discern which pain is worse.

A pressure on his shoulder pushes his back to the bed, and though it singes his wounds, it's more or less subsided and can't even compare to the strong pricking all over his upper body.

Something cold and wet is placed on his forehead. Shizuo peeks his eyes open just as a shadow moves and reappears on the other side of the bed, and as he turns his head, he mentally notes that the bed has been fixed.

"Shizu-chan is so careless!" Izaya giggles. He sits cross-legged, blackened wings folded neatly behind his back.

"What happened…?"

"I'm assuming you fainted, which isn't very smart when you've got bleach running in the bathtub – you're such a moron!" He sets his elbow in the crook of his knee and props his head up in his hand, grinning like a damned kid. "Haven't changed a bit. You could've died, if I hadn't come back to check on you. You're lucky that you didn't inhale any more, or that I found you before the tub overflowed and… seriously, you're too reckless~"

Shizuo remembers pouring the bleach in and filling the tub, so it probably wasn't very smart at all, but Izaya didn't have to fucking point it out as if he'd been a good samaritan for saving him. If he'd just left him there to die, it would have been preferable.

"Why would you…"

Izaya frowns. "I wouldn't waste all that time and effort removing your wings only for you to die. Obviously."

He moves forward to crawl over Shizuo, trapping his middle with his legs and sitting right on his abdomen, making the blond feel sick, but throwing up now will make the burn in his throat even worse. He swallows hard.

"Aren't you glad they're gone now? That I relieved you of your burden? I ended your suffering."

Shizuo can't answer that.

"I need air."

"The window's open. It's enough."

"Get off."

"Someone's demanding."

"Izaya—"

"But don't you realize the position you're in?" Izaya leans back on his haunches. "I promised you that no harm would come to you."

"So put the damn knife away."

"Fine." He shoves it back in his pocket with a sigh. "But I still don't think you understand." Izaya raises himself on his knees and traps the blond's head with his hands against the pillows. His face is shrouded in shadows, definition only found in the red eyes that manage still to catch the sunlight. It's morning. "I promised no harm would come to you. I never said anything of the sort about your friends."

Shizuo growls, as much as it rubs against his throat. "That wasn't part of the deal," he rasps.

"I wonder how good the doctor is at patching up his own body–"

"You wouldn't."

"You're right, I probably wouldn't. But your brother–"

"Don't you ever fucking touch him!" Shizuo tries to sit up in his blind rage, only for Izaya to snake his hand around his back and press two fingers into the bandages. Shizuo shivers as he screams, vocals taxing on his weakened lungs.

"This is your position, Shizu-chan. Don't you ever forget it."


	17. Part 4 Chapter 2

**Sorry for the unannounced hiatus! I really wish this website had ways that we could broadcast these things. Like I said in my note for the recent To Touch The Sky update, I've been moving into college and things have started up pretty quickly! Thank you for your patience!**

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><p>Shizuo is panting as the pain begins to dull, and the room comes back into focus. Izaya has cleaned up the place so that now it looks semi-livable. This room is awfully homely, but he's probably just done it for show. Lamps wearing adoring lampshades, cobwebs swept away. The ceiling fixture overhead is particularly glaring and starts a light show behind his eyelids, but maybe it's just the bleach.<p>

"C-can I…"

Izaya perks up. Waiting like a cat watching its dinner loiter about.

"Can I call… tell them where I am…"

He smirks. Clicks his tongue, shakes his head. "And what good would that do me, ne?" He sits back on his haunches, then crawls off to put his feet back on the floor. "They won't know where you are. It's better this way."

Shizuo chuckles grimly, the air stutter nearly sending him into a dangerous coughing fit. "Better, huh? So you decide shit for me now?"

"I knew you'd come to see it my way. Didn't think it'd be so soon."

"Tch." Shizuo's getting the urge to roll onto his side, but stays where he is. Eyes matched with Izaya's, although his own are tired and glassy. "Don't think I've succumbed to you just yet, flea."

"Oho~" Izaya seems impressed. "You know the word 'succumbed'! Looks like we can scratch 'vocabulary flash cards' off my to-do list."

"It's right between 'learning to cook' and 'how to plaster broken walls,' ah?"

"I didn't hire you to be my maid, Shizu-chan." He sighs, dusting himself off. As if he's dusting off some sort of monster residue that the blond had left on him just from touch. "Don't go anywhere~"

"Hmph." He finally feels that it's safe to close his eyes when Izaya's form disappears from the room.

When Izaya returns, sitting in his hands are a glass of water and something in his palm. Shizuo can only see it when he comes closer and holds it out to him.

"Swallow."

The pill is a cheery pastel pink. He imagines it tastes like dried paint and that it will sit in the top of his throat, never eroding away. He turns his head, disgusted. Izaya doesn't put the water and pill anywhere regardless, merely sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You could have asked me to kill you instead. Would've been much quicker."

"Yeah, you'd've liked that."

He smirks. "Can't say whether I would or wouldn't. Is it comforting, to know that you'll never hurt anyone ever again?" Before Shizuo even has a chance to answer, Izaya interrupts with a terse "False. Next question." The blond's fists tighten at either side of his body. "Would you like to know what your brother is doing right now? Shinra? Your little shadow friend?"

Shizuo isn't sure. As much as he'd love to hear of them, he's not certain that it's his place. He feels as though he's not of their realm any longer, and as if it was that way before, he knows that now he'll never be able to walk among them again.

He doesn't get to say no. "They're searching for you. Flying all over the city, hiring the force, tracing your steps. They won't find you. Do you feel better, knowing they'll die trying? All in vain, ne?"

Shizuo growls and holds his hands out. With a venomously soft "good boy," Izaya forks them over. Pill first, then water. He's right about the taste and the feel of it lodging in his throat, but he hadn't considered the water doing as much damage as it does. The glass nearly slips out of his hand as it burns and stings down into his lungs and stomach and the irritation blooms and ripples up his spine.

Holding out. It's the least he can do.


End file.
